Ignorance in A Childhood Lost

I fear and hate it. It is my mother’s most oft used excuse; and she pulls it out in defense of the most heinous crimes.
Ignorance, I think, has always been my worst enemy.
It’s used to justify my deepest suffering.
My soul doth faint at the sight of ignorance.

I can’t understand it. Fundamentally, I cannot understand because it is inconsistent.
My mother says that she didn’t mean to do any of the things she did. She didn’t know that communication was a thing-?! She wasn’t even aware of what real love is.
But she sure does act like she does.
She complains that she feels like I don’t want her around. That I just don’t like her. I’m not going to disagree with that sentiment. But it is funny, you know? She expects me to be inviting, welcoming, happy to see her.
“Do you believe that you deserve forgiveness?” I ask her.
“Yes!” she says, unhesitating.
“Why?” genuine curiosity.
“Because I’m your mother! I would have thought that you’d want to spend time with me- to fix things, to talk about them!”
“Well,” I said patiently. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of a double standard? Doesn’t that seem inconsistent?” She frowns, taken aback. Again, I patiently explain the nature of forgiveness, of repentance, of reconciliation. I equated it to accidentally hitting someone with their car- no one means to hit a pedestrian. However, the pedestrian doesn’t know that until you offer apologies, repentance, and reconciliation.
I said, “You are- and I’m not trying to insult you here, just pointing it out- quite a ways from the objective definition of Mother, are you not? You are saying that you didn’t know it at the time, and that’s fine. But as far as mom’s go, there’s a- a gap” hands apart “between what you did, and the definition of ‘what mother’s do’.
And it seems to me that- you are holding me to the standard of ‘perfect daughter’ when you expect gracious acceptance into my home. After, I’ll remind you, that our very last conversation was of you telling me that you think I have depression. Yet you were not concerned. You just grabbed your stuff and left. You didn’t even ask me if I was alright.”
A deluge of excuses ensued.

I think that my mother is so emotionally immature and stunted that we will get absolutely nowhere. She seems totally oblivious to the fact that she is projecting all of her shit onto me, and this is what she has been doing for the last 32 years!
I asked her if she believed that, when I was a child, I could tell her that I was unhappy or that I had any negative experiences.
“Yes!” she said. “I asked you- I listened to you- I was always there for you!”
“Oh? But, I never did.”
“No.”
“But, why not? If you believe I was entirely capable and completely comfortable telling you about how I felt, then why in your mind didn’t I?”
“I don’t know.”
“And that’s… okay with you?” I asked, trying to hide my irritation. She started with more excuses, but I was getting impatient by then. “Look,” I said, interrupting her and not caring, “This is exactly why I can’t trust you. You haven’t even bothered to ask these questions. You aren’t even concerned! You’ve chosen to forgive your parents. And the cost of that is failing to internalize these values. The consequences of that was my childhood.”